Cupid's Slingshot
by Ninja Fred
Summary: Brigitte Brady and Fitz Pompel, worst couple ever, so why are they engaged? Only one way to escape, run away! But where to? Why to her own town, as a Newsie. Not as easy as it seems, a lodging house full of boys, especially the rough boys of Brooklyn.
1. So it Begins

A lonely paperboy stood on a dark corner, selling his last papers in the flickering sunset. Spot Conlon's sandy brown hair fell into his stormy gray-blue eyes as he scanned the streets for potential customers. He held the papers in one hand, the other absentmindedly fiddling with the key tied around his neck with a piece of leather. His body was marginally undersized for his age of twelve but his slight frame gave off an air of power that promised he would be no ordinary street rat.

A stately man in a suit appeared, obviously well off. Jackpot. "Buy a papah, sir?" the youth asked politely, holding out the paper in a gesture of hope. The man gave him a foul look, "No of course not." Turning to walk away he halted at a name being called, presumably it was his own.

"Steve! Steve!" another man, in the same financial and social as the first, ran up. He was dragging a stumbling girl about ten, who was clearly only kept upright by his influence. She was probably his daughter due to the fact that they both had the same copper colored hair. They two men immediately launched into conversation which Spot immediately classified as "business talk".

Instead of being bored senseless by the negotiations, he allowed his kaleidoscopic eyes to wander instead to the pretty girl clutching her father's hand. She was outfitted in a green velvet dress with a satin bow, matching jacket and hat that tried fruitlessly to tame her wild red curls. When his eyes reached her face, and what an marvelous face it was with it's pale skin and angelic features, he was amazed to find her eyes already upon his. The eyes, he wasn't sure if they were green or brown, dominated the face as they were clearly it's most prominent feature. The orbs were hypnotizing him, dragging in his helpless consciousness only freeing it when they flicked down to the papers in his hand.

She seemed to produce a nickel from nowhere and offered it with a question, "May I have a paper please?" he was all to happy to oblige, considering the fact her voice was almost as divine as her outward appearance. "Of course, I neva turn down an offa." he flashed her a smile and took the nickel from her hand. As he reached down to get her change a sharp command made his head shoot up with alarming quickness.

"No Brigitte! Don't associate with that ruffian! Come on, we're going." with that he said his goodbyes to Steve and proceeded to continue down the street. "But daddy…" the girl protested weakly, but she was ignored. When it became apparent that her father was not going to let the transaction be completed she turned to face Spot and shouted over her shoulder "Don't worry about it! Keep the change!" before she was dragged on in the wake of her fathers powerful stride leaving him no time for a thank-you.

He watched her in fascination until her figure was lost to the darkness that was approaching rapidly due to the setting sun. He shook his head, as if waking from a trance, and tucked the nickel in his pocket and headed home, yearning for his bed and the merciful sleep that accompanied it.

A/N: Right, going to get a couple thing out of the way first. No they will not be that young, no it will not be from Spot's point of view and they will not be that short! Now that's settled, I hope you like it and I would appreciate it if you would tell me! Thank-you very much for reading!


	2. So it continues for lack of creativity

Disclaimer: HA! Yeah, forgot to put one before. I don't own Newsies, though I wish I did. I half own Brigitte's name (I share it with LJ of The.Pelvic.Thrust) but I do own her personality and circumstances. I also own the characters and places not shown in the movie.

A/N: Enjoy!

She stirred her tea, swirling the brownish liquid in her cup, and took a fleeting sip of the piping hot substance. Perched upon a stiff, metal chair in the tea lounge, Brigitte attempted to block out the incessant clatter of her mother's too-high heels echoing in her head. She smiled as she looked at her own heeled feet, remembering all too well the fateful experience with the very same shoes, seeming to her to be the spawn of the devil.

She was twelve at the time, and though not quite sure how it was possible, more of a klutz than she was now. Looking at her mother helplessly, the woman encouraged her to walk across the marble floor. That was when her mother's crusade to make her the perfect lady was in full swing, an effort she had still not abandoned. Brigitte looked at the distance from her mother to her and gulped, not sure if her weak coordination could handle this particularly hard test. Needless to say her clumsiness made her behind and the bare hard floor, not even a carpet to soften the blow, very well acquainted.

She needlessly smoothed down her fiery hair and took another sip of tea. Her body was a war zone, constantly being battled over by her two prominent nationalities, Irish, her father, and French, her mother. Her hair was obviously Irish, brilliantly red with natural spiral curls, while her face was French, delicate and aristocratic. Her skin was Irish, milky pale and freckled in places with too much sun, yet her body structure was clearly French, beautiful, like her mother's. Everything seemed to be decided from her bellybutton (Irish) to her eyelashes (French), except her eyes. They couldn't be compromised, so were instead combined in a clash of color...the French in her wanted brown while the Irish side demanded green. So to avoid conflict, her eyes were a brilliant shade of hazel, occasionally more brown or green when a particular side made an advance.

The funny thing about this was that this mirrored her parents' relationship with her. Her father had married her mother for her looks and her for his money. Now the only thing keeping them together was her fathers religious preference, Irish Catholic, which strictly prohibited divorce and her mother's dependence on her father's money. They were too obsessed with their reputation, their fights never escalating to actual shouting, but instead using Brigitte as leverage against one another. The upside...lots of extra presents, the downside...being deprived of a childhood that didn't have her growing up too fast and dealing with her parents' childish tendencies. She briefly wondered what her parents were going to fight over after she was grown and left the house. Of course chances of her having a normal childhood were very slim anyway, as she was kept in a gilded cage, a porcelain doll to her parents rather than a daughter. The other girls in the academy resented her and normal girls did as well. If it wasn't for Nannie, her nurse and only friend, she was sure she would have gone mad or worse...become her mother.

Enough with the self pity, Brigitte was above that, and back to the situation at hand. Her father was bringing home a business associate and his son. Brigitte knew the business associate well, Frank Pompel...she practically thought of him as an uncle, albeit a sleazy, money-obsessed, tightwad of an uncle, but an uncle nonetheless. The son not so much; she briefly recalled him from her coming out party, a night which she still remembered with horror, a revolting pimply thing who thought himself god's gift to women. She sighed, she would grin and bear it, as she did with every other get together her father had with business partners. She attempted to take another sip of tea to find that there was none left...curious, she had drunken it all during her reverie.

Alfonso, the quiet and kind butler, announced the arrival of the master of the house and his guests and left without making sound...the mark of a good butler. Brigitte rose and walked swiftly to her father and Frank with a warm smile, until she caught sight of the boy standing with them. He was just as she remembered, which didn't quite fill her with happiness...in fact she felt the better-suited term was nausea.

She was quite surprised when he greeted her with a kiss on her hand, making her pull back in revulsion and grimace, but his vice-like grip on her hand kept it there allowing it to be assaulted by his lips. She pulled back and tried inconspicuously to wipe her hand on her dress, disgusted.

Nonetheless, she preformed her hostess duties and led the men to the small table in the tea room. Thankfully, she only stumbled once along the way, nearing where her mother had hastily sat, looking radiant as usual. They made small talk for a while, after all it was expected that nothing should stray from the rigid path of normalcy. After about twenty minutes of discussing school and home life, Brigitte wanting to impale herself on her tea spoon the whole of it, they finally got to the interesting stuff, business. Brigitte was, of course, prohibited form voicing her many opinions on the subjects that her father and his associates talked about, but listened intently anyway. Due to this, she was quite surprised when she heard her name brought up and conversation followed by "and Fitz".

"Excuse me?" she interjected. The men looked at her for a moment, and then Frank smiled.

"Well, when you're married of course, dear." her eyes widened in horror as she shifted her gaze to Fitz, who was leering at her hungrily. Hurriedly looking away she caught sight of her father making slashing motions across his neck to Frank. "You mean you didn't tell her?" he asked scandalized, and in that moment a small flare of affection for Frank blossomed in her chest.

"No, he most certainly did _not_ tell me. When were you planning on doing that, _father_." she asked coldly, glaring at him in contempt.

"When I thought it was the right time, Brigitte, darling...and I'd thank you not to take that tone with me." he said it firmly, but Brigitte wasn't yet finished.

"I can take whatever tone I like when you make decisions about by life neglecting to even discuss it with me!" she stood up angrily and faced her father, knowing that she was making a scene yet not caring in the least.

"I'm your father Brigitte-"

"And should therefore respect my wishes, especially about marriage!"

"Don't you want to marry me?" the new voice belonged to Fitz, whiny and high-pitched it sent shivers down her spine. She shot him a glance and shuddered, while he was doing his best to look pathetic, his eyes were obviously appraising her.

Her face paled and she ignored his question. Turning to face the room she said "If you'll excuse me, I need to freshen up." It wasn't a request.

As Brigitte stamped ungracefully down the hallway to the powder room, and tripped. Laughing weakly, she got up and even amongst the chaos in her mind, one thing held true...her clumsiness. Ever since she took her first steps she had fallen at least twenty times a day and broke anything she ever touched, a feeble laugh started as she thought of the many tea cups that had fallen beneath her scourge.

The door closed behind her and she sunk to the floor in anguish. The gravity of the situation hit her...she had yelled at her father, become engaged against both her will and knowledge to Fitz Pompel, and gained the urge to throw up everything that she had ever eaten all in a few short minutes. Lovely.

---

"Nannie, make it go away!"

"I can't love."

"But I don't like him."

"I know dearest."

"Then can you at least open the window so I may fling the entirety of my body out of it?"

"I'm not sure the street sweeps would appreciate that, love."

Brigitte sighed heavily, throwing herself onto her voluminous canopy bed. Placing the freshly folded night dress into the dresser, Nannie walked to the bed and began to rub Brigitte's back in comforting circles.

"It'll be alright love, you'll see, everything will work out in the end."

"I can only hope you're right." Rising from the bed she wandered to the window and started unfocused into the rapidly descending darkness.

---

Brigitte gazed out the window down onto the busy New York street that lay outside her pristine school. She had long abandoned the pretense that she was paying attention to the lesson that the thin Ms. Prinkle was trying to give her. The elderly lady more closely resembled the dandelions that were ready to germinate she had seen on her annual trips to the country. Her thin frame and wispy gray hair gave a powerful insight to her less-than-appealing personality.

Brigitte sighed, she did NOT want to be here at the moment. She saw the newsies on the street, peddling papers and shouting headlines, that's where she wanted to be. Working shoulder to shoulder with good friends for the daily wage. Newsboys had it made, they didn't have to agree to marriages their father's put together for them, actually, she doubted most of them had parents, but that was beside the point.

The important thing was that the marriage to Fitz was a business marriage, just what she didn't need. But what she did need was a way out. She had reviewed her options, making a list of pros and cons for each option worth considering (joining the circus not being one of them), and decided the only logical choice was to grab all the money she could and run away.

But where to? A question that had been plaguing her for ages. A faint breeze whooshed through the window, bringing with it the chorus of voices pawning papers and proclaiming false headlines. While she usually enjoyed the sound of the newsboys, often placing herself among them in her mind, they were incredibly distracting. If she heard them all she could think about was them and what was really important was figuring out where she could run awa-

"THAT'S IT!" she exclaimed. She could run away to be a newsboy! Her elation disappeared as she noticed that the whole of her small class had their eyes on her. She looked around and started into a weak laugh. The awkwardness was still there, as no one laughed with her. She hurriedly covered the forced laugh with an even less believable cough. Knowing no one would believe it she sighed and held out her hand to the teacher who raised her ruler and brought it down sharply. For an old lady she had surprising strength. She was given a short lecture on disrupting class, one she had received many a time and replied to almost subconsciously. As the elderly teacher returned to her class, Brigitte put her analytical mind to work as she considered and calculated how she would run away to be a Newsie.

---

The air was humid as Brigitte hurried down the street. It was after school, so she still had her books in one hand, held by a thick leather strap. She had told her father she wanted to stop by the park after her lessons one day this week. Of course the real plan was to go to the tailor's to get some clothes for her runaway plan. This was her first real step in her plan to infiltrate the ranks of the newsboys.

She came upon the store she was looking for and walked inside, bypassing the usual finer fabrics in the front and moving to the course fabrics in the back. She browsed the reams of cloth, trying to find one that was the right color and texture. Just as she was torn between a tan or dark blue cotton fabric she heard something that made her seize up in fear.

"But mummy I don't _like _that color!" the whiney voice sounded from behind the rack that hid her from the mirrored fitting area.

'Please not here, please not him!' she thought frantically. Then she took a deep breath, trying to console herself. 'There's got to be hundreds of pompous whiney rich kids in New York, not all of them are my complexion challenged fiancé'

She heard a high pitched girlish shriek accompanied by "Owww! Mummy the stupid seamstress poked my with that pin!"

"Fitz darling, what would you have me do?" his mother asked in a forlorn voice. As the conversation went on her panic rose.

"But it's just my luck I happened to get _my_ pompous whiney rich kid." she muttered dejectedly.

She was at a loss. There was little chance that they would come to where she was hiding but she couldn't stand staying still in tense situations. So she decided to brave it, lowered her head and made a beeline to the door.

"Brigitte? Brigitte darling! It is you!" Fitz's mother exclaimed when she saw her, sprinting for the door, about an inch from freedom. She sighed and turned around.

"Hello Mrs. Pompel." she said in a defeated voice. "How are you?"

"Fine, but look at you! You've grown so much since I saw you last!" she was obviously on auto pilot, considering the fact that the last time the saw each other was two weeks ago and, being eighteen, she was done with the growing process. She was about to point this out when Fitz spoke up.

"Why don't you give a kiss to your to-be-groom." he asked, pursing his lips so he looked like a fish, obviously he hadn't kissed many girls. Her face blanched at the thought of touching his pimple covered face let alone bestowing a kiss to the acne covered brat. Luckily Mrs. Pompel stepped in, saving her from the revolting act.

"Darling, you know that you can't kiss until your married!" she reprimanded sharply. While Brigitte was a firm believer that courtship had no place in modern society, but in this case was thankful for her parents old-fashioned ideals.

"That's right Fitz, wouldn't want to displease our parents would we?" she asked almost mockingly. His blotchy face scrunched as he pouted sullenly.

"All done." the seamstress said sounding as if she had just been set free from prison. Brigitte smiled at her, understanding her relief. The pair finally left, after making a polite goodbye. As soon as they left the shop, Brigitte grimaced at their retreating back.

"Can I help you dearie?" the plump seamstress asked kindly. Wispy hair escaped from the haphazard knot placed slightly off center on the top of her head. Her wide smile still had enough warmth to put Brigitte at ease even though the poor lady had to deal with her pompous fiancée and his mother.

"Yes please. I need some new clothes for a few of my stable boys from that material over there." she pointed vaguely to the brownish material she had chosen. "Thank you very much."

The seamstress grabbed the cloth and headed back to Brigitte with a question. "What are their sizes then?"

Brigitte rattled off the string of numbers she had had drilled into her by her mother. When she had finished the seamstress had an odd smile on her face.

"You know theirs sizes well." she said slyly. Brigitte gave her a sheepish smile and the seamstress popped a questioning eyebrow and told Brigitte that her clothes would be ready in an hour and she could come back then.

---

Clutching her precious bundle of clothes to her chest she hurried home through the crowded streets. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the setting sun, a beautiful alloy of gold, pink, red, and orange. She smiled, the sun was setting later and later with the oncoming of summer.

Eventually, she turned from the crowded main streets of the slums of Brooklyn onto another street, paved with cobblestone and lined with large manor houses. Her house, a large behemoth of brick and stone covered in parasitic ivy, was lit up in a welcoming manner. Coming in the front door she entered the majestic foyer, vaulted ceilings, marble pillars, Persian rugs, the whole shebang.

"Brigitte? What have you got there?"

"Nothing Mother." she spun to face her and tucked bundle behind her back.

"It looked like a bundle of clothes to me."

" Oh, this," she pulled out the wad of linen, "um… it's… um…" She wracked her brain for something to say, then, like a lightning bolt, "a school assignment!"

"Alright then darling." then her mother clattered off.

Brigitte thanked whatever power that gave her a ditz for a mother and hurried up the stairs where she stashed her prize beneath her mattress. As expected, the call dinner came a few moments later. She quickly washed up before heading down to the spacious dining room for her meal.

---

Sitting on her bed she clutched the bunch of cloth that held her clothes like it was a great treasure. Smiling, she slowly pulled on the knot of twine that held the bundle together. There sat her prize, a pile of coarse clothes.

Trying them on, shivering slightly at the feel of the rough fabric against her predictably delicate skin, she examined herself in the mirror. The weren't too bad, they covered all of her girlish features, probably because her slim boyish form had none, except her face. Examining her face she sighed, it was hopelessly feminine, unless…

Grabbing some dirt from the window box on her sill, she smeared it over her flushed cheek bones, freckled nose, and pale brow. She stepped back and nodded, satisfied. She looked just like a young boy. She supposed if she said she was fourteen she would be plausible, she would just have to tone down her vocabulary. She wiped the dirt of her face with a damp cloth and slipped back into her nightgown, there, no damage done.

Bundling the clothes again, she slipped them under her bed and blew out the candle that had lit her midnight infidelity. Slipping under the covers, she couldn't help but beam brightly at the thought that tomorrow was the final step in her plan.


End file.
